


Contrivance (The Devisers and Their Secrets)

by HannahTheScribe



Series: Contrivance [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abduction, Abuse, Abuse of Authority, Abusive Parents, Adopted Children, Adoption, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst and Drama, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Aromantic, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Authority Figures, Bad Parenting, Blackmail, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Child Abuse, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Co-workers, Comfort/Angst, Consent Issues, Control, Dark, Dark Past, Death, Dissociation, Drama, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Dubious Science, Dystopia, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Ethical Dilemmas, Execution, Experimentation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Female Characters, Female Protagonist, Female Relationships, Female-Centric, Flashbacks, Future, Gaslighting, Gen, Geniuses, Government, Government Agencies, Government Experimentation, Harm to Children, Heavy Angst, Horror, Hostage Situations, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Interrogation, Introspection, Killing, Love, Love/Hate, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Mentor/Protégé, Mentors, Military, Military Background, Military Backstory, Military Science Fiction, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Mindfuck, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Morality, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder, Murderers, Near Future, Nightmares, Novel, Office, POV Female Character, POV Third Person, Panic Attacks, Parenthood, Past Tense, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Political Alliances, Politics, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Protective Parents, Protective Team, Protectiveness, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Psychological Warfare, Psychology, Rated For Violence, Science, Science Experiments, Science Fiction, Secrets, Security Clearance, Self-Harm, Social Experiments, Sparring, Stockholm Syndrome, Strong Female Characters, Suicidal Thoughts, Survival Training, Team, Team Dynamics, Team Feels, Team as Family, Teamwork, Torture, Training, Trauma, Unethical Experimentation, Violence, Women Being Awesome, Women In Power, Women in the Military, Work, Workplace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahTheScribe/pseuds/HannahTheScribe
Summary: Near future America. A lottery dictates one household from each state to participate in Contrivance each year. Those chosen are put into an elaborate, televised simulation of an apocalyptic social collapse scenario, until one household remains. But this isn't about them.The producers of Contrivance, the Devisers, live haunted by their annual creation and have no one but each other. Monsters? Or broken misfits looking for a challenge?When Contrivance dissidents take the Devisers hostage, secrets come out amongst the tight knit group. The young Lead Deviser revisits her dark past as the then-Lead's apprentice, all she did to get where she is. Her aging mentor struggles in her role as a Deviser, her former apprentice's subordinate. As they face the fallout of their secrets revealed long after the hostage situation and interrogation, they push themselves further than ever to prepare for the worst case scenarios. But their power games have always been complex, and one can only play interrogator for so long before real, deadly questions come to light.
Relationships: Justice Levana/Licinius Clark, Justice Levana/Ritter Denken, Rissa Denken/Justice Levana, Rissa Denken/Ritter Denken
Series: Contrivance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034871
Kudos: 7





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Want more? Find the whole series on [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034871).
> 
> Want more, and have something in mind? Request short stories for this series [here](https://hannahthescribe.com/contrivance-requests/).
> 
> Want fun extras like character art and fonts? Check [this](https://hannahthescribe.com/contrivance/%22) out.

Lavender could mentally hear Malka’s voice from years ago; _it’s not always easy to be the leader. Every choice is yours. Every decision you want to make… and every one you don’t._

Lavender had thought she'd understood the words then. She’d thought she’d gained new understanding of them since, two successful Contrivance runs as Lead Deviser. Now, staring down the intruder she had at gunpoint, Malka and the other Devisers restrained, she understood them more than she ever had, and had the bad feeling she would be understanding them more and more in the near future.

They’d all been in a meeting, when the room got stormed. And if their attackers had gotten this far, their security team had been taken care of, in one way or another. Everything happened at once.

Rissa, quick to move from the far side of the room, pounced on the nearest intruder, producing a knife, Justice doing the same; Ritter, unarmed, simply tried to put himself between the two of them and anyone with a gun, captured quickly.

Francisco had scrambled past Trace—who managed to mostly scream before being grabbed, one of the closest to the door—trying to reach Lavender, getting one solid punch in to an attacker's nose before they got him, too.

Lavender had shoved Kaye, also screaming, even closer, away from the door, and also produced a knife, putting it in the throat of the attacker who had tried to grab her, but by the time she pulled it out, Kaye had been easily taken by someone else.

Malka got one good slash at the arm of the first person to try to grab Lavender, though she had been aiming for his neck, and was disarmed in a flurry of motion by two intruders at once. They were quick on her; being the only one with a publicly military background made her a fine target to disarm first, even if she looked a gray and arthritic seventy-two year old now, the stepped down former Lead Deviser.

Thespian required a bit of force to get restrained due to sheer size, though none of it was muscle and in the end, they got him quickly, too.

Distracted by Malka, by the time the intruders turned back to Lavender, someone else had gotten Rissa, but Justice had managed to get her hands on the handgun of one of the attackers. Having no idea how to use it, and split seconds from being overpowered, she slid it across the conference table in Lavender's direction just as her arms got yanked behind her.

Lavender grabbed it, knife in her other hand, and the one who had been trying to grab her stopped and stupidly backed away, fell dead a moment later. A few people screamed.

The one exit was thoroughly blocked; they weren’t going anywhere. A windowless fifth floor conference room, and the shouts in the hall showed it had been taken. Perhaps the floor. Perhaps the building. Their attackers did not yet seem willing to kill. If they were here to assassinate, they all would've been dead by now, which was both terrifying—that if that was what they wanted, that was how fast it would've been over—and a relief. They were not, in fact, here for that. Perhaps they thought not killing anyone would get them better trials or at least quicker executions.

There was a problem, however: shooting to escape was not going to happen. The other Devisers were restrained and unarmed, and every remaining intruder—still plenty—had one of the Devisers poised in front of them. And she was not going to point the gun at any of those.

They weren’t keen to see her shoot anyone else, even if it wouldn’t get her anywhere ultimately; none of them seemed to be here on a suicide mission. And until they figured out what to do about her—they were waiting, for something, and she wasn’t looking forward to whatever that something was—they’d let her have the gun. If they tried seriously to disarm her, she might be better off letting them to avoid getting shot right then, and waiting for the rescue of whatever government agents were probably already on this case. So she was really holding onto the gun for a circumstance change.

So she pointed it at the next person who came in the door, who she could tell quickly was the something they'd been waiting for.

_Every decision you want to make… and every one you don’t._

He was flanked by two more armed intruders, one aiming at her, one aiming at Malka. "Why don't you give me those?" the one in front asked, holding out his hand for the weapons.

They weren't going to get them out of here. They were outnumbered. Outgunned. Caught by surprise. Mostly, restrained and untrained.

She handed over the gun and the knife.

The two who had been aiming changed tasks, one to removing the dead, one to collecting loose electronics; the ones built into the room were disabled. Neither moved to restrain her.

Now they prayed for security. She wanted to live to see the age of twenty-one in a few weeks no matter how much she had accomplished early in life. Malka's apprentice at nine. Lead Deviser at eighteen, the youngest Deviser to date.

"Let's get right to it, shall we? There are a couple of things we want." He rattled them off. Information. It became clear that they were not here for the Devisers, today. Even if they killed all of them, while it would be the news story of the decade, they would be replaced. Contrivance would go on.

No, most of what they wanted was information that would get them into one of the only places harder to get into than where they stood now, the heart of Contrivance Headquarters, where Contrivance was devised and contrived—they wanted a way into the Contrivance Complex, where Contrivance, the elaborate apocalyptic simulation, the event, actually took place every year.

Where the participants, one household per state chosen by lottery, would be when the event was televised. Where the participants could be rescued from, quite publicly. Saving innocent lives, he pointed out, doomed by lottery to make a point for the government—showing a social collapse scenario and the deadliness thereof. Getting everyone out instead of merely one household. He wanted a way in that could not be changed between now and Contrivance. And there were ways. And, a few other useful passwords and such that would get them plenty of classified information.

"We have a few options. You might like the one where someone talks willingly.”

The Devisers looked at Lavender. She was still silent, eyes on the man speaking.

“If you don’t like that option, you can start choosing the order you want to go in for the less friendly option. And if you really don’t like that one either, I suppose we could choose for you. Any questions? Opinions?”

“Who are you?” Lavender’s voice was quiet, but sounded steadier than she felt.

“Don’t worry about that. Pick an option.”

“I’ll go first.”

Several people started to speak at once; the Devisers, mostly, but the man spoke over them: “Oh, but it looks like it’ll be fun to give you all a chance to bicker about it.” He was incredibly arrogant in assuming there was time for these games, but Lavender feared he wasn’t wrong. “You have five minutes.”

The guards swept out, the door slamming and locking behind them; several people tried to reach it first and failed.

“You’re not going first,” said Francisco.

“Yes, I am,” said Lavender firmly. “I’m sure we just need to stall for security. I can stall." There was nothing sharp left in the room, but being unrestrained, knowing where to press, and a stylus with a fine tip helped her enough to get the zip tie off Malka's wrists, who silently joined her in releasing the others. It would probably make no difference but comfort, but it was something. "Keep your hands behind your back and no one'll notice."

“They’re not going to fucking ask nicely while you buy us time, Lav," Francisco said.

“He’s right,” Rissa cut in.

“I’m aware of that.” She was very aware of that, actually, and she slipped the black blazer she wore from her shoulders and left it on her usual chair. Malka, who knew, caught her eye, and Thespian, who had sewn the pills into the waterproof seams of it but had never been told what they were, was trying to.

It was a quick acting, painless, extremely lethal poison known as necranalgeside. Developed in recent years by the United States military to be taken in case of capture. That it had ended up in Lavender's hands was actually not by any official doing, but it had been given to her by one of Malka's oldest friends, a Marine chemist local to DC and Contrivance Headquarters. Enough for the Devisers, a few extra. Thus, it was her choice what to do with it.

Untied, Kaye gripped her arm, her voice a whimper. “Lavender, you can’t—”

“I can.” Her voice didn’t soften, but she squeezed Kaye’s hand reassuringly.

“Please—” Kaye was clutching at her.

“I should go,” said Rissa. “I’ll hold up the best." It was both arrogance and perceived truth by at least most of the people in the room, her own rough past.

“The fuck you are,” said Ritter, her husband, and Justice, their girlfriend, overlapping him with similar words, and continuing:

“I’ll go. You don’t deserve more of—”

“This is stupid,” said Francisco. “We’re not volunteering anyone, and if we are, it’s me.”

Justice, Rissa, Ritter, and Francisco all tried to yell over each other. Thespian and Trace seemed too in shock to join in. Malka met Lavender’s eyes again curiously but said nothing. Kaye kept tightening her grip on Lavender's arm, her eyes pleading.

“Then let’s vote,” Lavender said, and it shouldn’t have been audible over the chaos, but all four people yelling stopped and looked at her.

“What?” asked a large combination of the others, including Thespian and Trace.

“We vote. It’s only fair. Most votes goes first.”

“What, so we can all vote for ourselves and have this argument again?” asked Francisco.

“If you think it’ll get us nowhere, there’s no harm in voting. I don’t know how much time we actually have. I vote for myself.”

“I’m not fucking voting."

“Fine,” said Lavender. She looked at Kaye, who was clutching her arm again. “How about you?” Her voice was gentler, running her thumb over Kaye’s hand where it held a death grip on her arm. “So far we have one vote for me, one refusal, and…?”

Kaye stammered. “I vote for myself,” she said finally. "Otherwise it's just you."

It was easier to convince the others after that. Thespian voted for himself easily after Kaye. “But I don’t like voting,” he added.

Trace gave Francisco a guilty look and also voted for herself. “Guess I can’t stay out of it.”

Justice. She voted for herself, also looking guilty. They had all thought she might be another Contrivance dissident, once. She had thought it, too. Left them. Run for the House. Looking for change. Contrivance, she hated. Contrivance, they all, in their own way, really, hated. But the Devisers, in the end, loved each other. She had returned.

After that, Rissa and then Ritter were easier. Rissa was the only one who had offered logic in volunteering herself and she offered it again now.

The pressure was building. “Francisco?” Lavender asked gently.

“Fine. I guess it’s still fucking pointless. I vote for myself.” His tone was still harsh; his gaze, though, still softened a little when he looked at her.

Lavender offered him a rueful but pleased smile, back in control of the situation, and asked Malka for her vote.

“I vote for Lavender.”

“ _What?!_ ” Francisco and Rissa had spoken it simultaneously; most of them simply gaped.

“No!” Kaye. Lavender peeled her hand off of her arm.

“That settles it,” she said.

“ _Fuck_ ,” said Francisco, and the door opened again. Perhaps they'd been listening. 

“Do we have a selection?”

“Me,” said Lavender.

Most of the others seemed too shocked, or too scared in the guards’ presence, to say anything; Malka was gripping Francisco’s arm tightly behind both of them, a warning.

The man laughed. “Interesting choice. All right, sweetheart, come this way.” He grabbed her and pulled her out of the room, and they were quickly gone.

When the door slammed shut again, the room descended into chaos.

For just one moment first, everyone seemed to have gone into silent shock, except for Malka, who seemed as poised as ever, and perhaps Francisco, who seemed to snap back into it when Malka let go of his arm, whirling on her, cueing the chaos. “The fuck was that?”

“Man asks a good question,” said Rissa, plopping herself back into a chair. “The fuck gives?”

Francisco, meanwhile, was already desperately trying the door again. Trace was trying to soothe him, rubbing his back, saying something in his ear, half for his sake and half to not invite the guards back.

“Yeah, I’ve got some questions,” said Thespian, a little more lightly than the others.

“This is sick,” said Rissa, Ritter fidgeting with her hair nervously from behind her chair. “We were all gonna vote for ourselves and they probably would’ve grabbed someone at random and we’d all get to feel terrible about it equally.”

“There was no possible path,” Malka said softly, “where Lavender would've let that happen.”

“Well, she wouldn’t have had much of a fucking choice!” Rissa’s voice was the loudest over various chatter, Ritter, Kaye, Justice, most closely followed by Francisco saying:

"Forget the fucking guards, _we_ shouldn't have given her that choice!" He kept pulling on the door. 

“And yet she got what she wanted.” Malka’s voice was slightly colder.

“Yeah, because you’re a psychopath,” Rissa snarled at her.

“Yeah, what the _fuck?”_ Francisco demanded.

Malka laughed. It sounded all wrong. “Why do you think she suggested we vote?”

The room fell silent.

“… Oh, _fuck._ ” Thespian’s voice was as quiet as it ever was.

“ _Oh_ ,” Kaye whispered, sitting down again.

“She knew,” said Ritter incredulously. “She knew we’d all vote for ourselves except for you. And it would give her the only second vote. That…”

“Seems incredibly obvious now?” Malka asked. “Given what she clearly wanted and how much she pressed for us all to vote, so it was legitimate?" 

“That… does seem obvious now,” said Kaye, looking down at her hands.

“Yeah.” Trace whispered the word, staring into space, hand stilling on Francisco’s shoulder.

A few moments of quiet. Vaguely, anyone listening for news beyond the room could have heard that head guard talking in the next room, indistinctly. Around now joined the sounds of what sounded like hard impacts, and shortly thereafter, Lavender crying out repeatedly, then sobs.

“Fuck,” said Ritter, squeezing Rissa’s shoulder too tightly. His other hand was in Justice’s grasp, and numb.

Thespian was stroking Kaye’s hair, for once lost for words.

Francisco lunged at the door again. Trace was right behind him, trying to shush him. “There’s nothing we can do for her now,” she pleaded with him. “Don’t give us more problems.”

“Okay, new question,” said Justice, louder. “Why did she know you'd vote for her?”

“Then we can get back to why in the actual fuck _did_ you,” said Rissa.

“She knew I would understand and respect her decision,” said Malka simply.

“Is this some noble Lead Deviser crap?” Rissa demanded.

“Do you think it matters what her title is, Rissa? It really holds no bearing here, does it? Yet when the guards started asking questions, who did you look to? Whose orders did you obey when you participated in the vote at all? If you take out titles and whose contract says what, if we all lost our jobs right now, Lavender's still the leader, and that means being the one to make the choices. And this is what she chose. She wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“And you respect Lavender’s authority as Lead Deviser since exactly _when_?” asked Rissa.

Lavender was pleading in the next room. Kaye was still crying, Thespian’s fingers tenser in her hair.

“If that was a good argument, you wouldn’t have doubted yourself enough to not use it first.”

“Oh, please. You never entirely stopped running Lavender’s life, and you never will. You might be on to something, but you’re not there yet. Keep talking.”

“I am willing to question some of Lavender’s decisions,” Malka acquiesced. “This was not one of them. Our lives are probably at stake, here and if we survive but turned traitor to live, and there's no one I trust more in in this scenario than Lavender, including myself.”

There was quiet.

Lavender started to scream. Long, high pitched, agonized wails. Several of them jumped, then cringed.

Kaye cried louder, Thespian unable to help.

Justice, sitting next to Rissa now, had a white knuckled grip on one of Rissa’s hands, and seemed much more ready to back her up if she jumped on Malka than Ritter, who seemed somewhat ready to stop both of them from starting a fight. “So why trust Lavender?” 

“Do you not?” Malka laughed. It still didn’t sound right. “Are you deaf?” She gestured at the wall that they seemed to share with the screaming. “Lavender would do anything to get us out of here unscathed.”

“Not what I meant,” said Justice. “What you’re getting at so far is that you voted for Lavender because you trust her opinion on how to get us out of here, which was that she should be the one to 'stall’. What do you know that we don’t? What made you agree? And I’m not sold on her _just knowing_ you would.”

Malka finally sat down again, seeming very tired, pained. “I raised Lavender from the age of nine onwards. I understand her, not just as a Lead Deviser, but as a person, on a level it’s very possible no one else will ever reach.”

“Oh, shit,” said Rissa abruptly.

Everyone looked at her; she seemed to have had a realization, like how Thespian had voiced it, but unlike when Thespian had done it, none of them had had the same.

“What?” Ritter asked, nervous, echoed by Kaye.

Rissa laughed. “This seems obvious now, too. Oh, I can’t believe you.” She addressed Malka.

“What—“ Justice started.

“You trained her for this,” said Rissa. She spoke for the sake of the others, now. “I said I volunteered because I know how I do when I'm in pain. Lavender didn’t say it, but she knows how she does, too. And so do you. And she knows you do. Which doesn’t leave it too open ended. You’ve hurt her, haven’t you? In the name of preparing her for this _exact fucking scenario_.”

All eyes were on Malka. Lavender was still screaming, crying, pleading, making the silence inside the room heavier, several long moments.

“Yes,” Malka sighed.

“Oh, fuck,” said Thespian again. Ritter joined him.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” asked Rissa.

Justice’s turn to say, “That’s sick.”

“Oh, God,” Kaye whispered, and looked like she might _be_ sick.

“Way to play fucking noble, yourself,” Francisco spat at her. Trace gripped his arm. “You wanted to give us shit for not ‘respecting Lavender’s decision’ when you were acting on information you didn’t want to give us. Fuck you. I—”

“I have said nothing untrue,” said Malka, cutting him off. “I did prepare her for this exact situation. And guess what? We’re in this exact situation. Would you rather her be clueless?”

“I’d rather you not be a sadistic child abusing psychopath,” said Rissa.

“I don’t think Lavender sees me that way.”

“Yeah, because you brainwashed her.”

“We can argue any of our mental states all day. In the end, I only asked—not forced—Lavender to sign that she agreed to what I was going to do, and she did.”

“So, what, she signed a piece of paper once when she was fucking nine years old, and gave you permission to torture her at will for a decade?”

"—Yeah, the fuck did you do?" Francisco asked.

"Out with it," said Justice.

“No,” said Malka softly, to Rissa's question. She closed her eyes. It was not a nice memory to revisit, even for her. Honestly, she had thought they had moved past it. Healed. Some wounds were never to be reopened. “She was sixteen, and she gave me sixty hours.”


	2. History

It was unfair, Malka thought, to begin with the practice interrogation.

Unfair, to begin with the sixteen year old begging for death at gunpoint, bruised and bloodied and not having given up a single point of information.

But where did you begin?

The practice had felt so much like an ending and a beginning at once—there was _before_ and there was _after._

You could start with the nine year old who gatecrashed what was nicknamed the _Contrivance MOS_ Gala, an event half military (mostly Marines, a decent showing from the Navy), half Contrivance. Those who skirted the line. The civilian Devisers (a minority at the time, though eventually all but Malka) were not invited—Thespian and Trace had taken to each other well, less so the others, and seemed far from disappointed about missing the event. Even Malka felt disinclined to it; the mix was a boring disaster year after year, and she usually spent it twitching with the desire to escape back to Contrivance Headquarters, to the all encompassing entity that was Contrivance, to the Devising world and not one more speech about largely false—or grossly simplified at best—Contrivance history.

Contrivance had been born of a military project; Malka was a Marine, a lieutenant colonel, when she pursued the rumors of that project. She had a bachelor's degree in oceanography from the Naval Academy; she pursued the dual PhD in meteorology and atmospheric science and climate science from Penn State when it seemed it might get her into the right circles for those rumors. She became the first Lead Deviser and in title the founder of Contrivance at forty-two, with a team of military transfers. The Devising college program formed later.

Three days before the Gala, the head of security left a report on Malka's desk with a sticky note that said, _You might be in luck._

She couldn't see how a risk assessment on someone who seemed to hold an intense obsession with all things Contrivance, especially the Devisers, especially Malka, meant she was in luck, until she turned to the page with the details on the person in question. The security head, perhaps swept up in Deviser theatrics, had buried the lead in pages of browsing history patterns.

A nine year old from Pennsylvania's foster care system.

Weeks earlier—around the time this child's search history crossed the line of security alert—Malka had announced that she was considering an apprentice.

_Considering._

Not urgently. Within a few years, not weeks. Even then, a child of perhaps eight to twelve, several more years of training before they would be of age to be Lead Deviser.

But she had committed to the idea before the announcement, made sure she was ready in case the right one showed up on her doorstep, _so to speak._

Yet the file concluded with a perceived plan to seek a chance to speak to Malka at the Gala.

Talk about _on her doorstep._

She told security to let her unless further information came; she'd handle it.

They met during the initial mingling of the Gala.

Paperwork and testing and record checking aside, it was that first meeting that sealed Lavender's fate.

The problem was that Malka didn't really like a lot of people, but somehow this malnourished and attention starved nine year old struck a chord immediately. It was seeing impossibly too much of herself and it was endless potential just waiting to be refined. It was the needed complete and total obsession with Devising, the desire, ability, _need_ for excellence at that, to exclude pursuing anything and everything else.

And for the next nine years, Malka was ruthless, of course, but Lavender was ruthless back. You could have perfection or sanity, but you could not have both.

The two were made of brilliance and intensity and ambition, and not of mildness and soft edges.

The law called Lavender her _daughter_ and the media called Lavender her _protege_ , no matter how many times and how exclusively Malka used the word _apprentice._ The mostly unknowing public called them both monsters and Lavender a victim at best.

But mostly, whatever happened was between the two of them alone. Besides necessity, no one was given reason to remember Lavender existed.

Oh, there were a few tutors, some actual college credits—the government gave her an honorary bachelor's at eighteen—some enrichment programs, an internship or two, security needs, teaching life skills, medical, an old friend or two of Malka's, so on. And a few months shy of the Lead Deviser position, Lavender moved into her own Contrivance Headquarters apartment and was given a group of senior interns, that year's raw Contrivance footage, the broadcast feed that would go to half the nation, and the live cinematography challenge to get higher ratings than the other half, edited by Malka and the current Devisers, who got all of the other controls as well—which she won. Malka, at Lavender's requests, hired one of the interns—Kaye—immediately before she stepped down.

But much as the Devisers at the time had pressed and pressed for all nine years, they got very little news. They met Lavender first when she was already instated as Lead Deviser.

Those nine years.

Lavender _lived_ for Contrivance. Fixated on it. Gave her mind and soul and heart and sanity for it. Lifelong obsession to the point of monomania. Barely ate, slept less. Woke screaming from the nightmares more often than not when she did, often still at her desk. Malka demanded everything she had in her and Lavender gave her more and more and more.

You could not start with the practice interrogation.

You had to understand what came first.

There was the twelve year old who killed without flinching. In the moment. Oh, there was even more screaming herself awake while not quite asleep from a phantasmagoric sleep deprived hallucination or a wisp of a dream—later. _Later._ After. But not in the moment.

You had to understand that the sixteen year old begging for death had executed five insurgent prisoners, one a year from the age of twelve onwards, just because Malka wanted to make sure she could. Would. Shooting up close was not how Devisers killed, but it was a guarantee that killing someone via a control panel would be all but easy.

You had to understand that _after_ the practice interrogation, she started getting chances—two, in total—to interrogate those prisoners herself first. That while not a necessary part of the training, the morbid curiosity that fueled the rest of her life had her jump on the _learning opportunity_. That she did so without mercy. Without failure to find out what the government wanted to know. That when she killed them, too, in the end, they were _relieved._ That Malka had watched the footage and told her, _"You take after me."_ That Lavender smiled.

You had to understand the world they lived in.

That hundreds of innocent people died gory, televised deaths in Contrivance every year.

That Malka had been subjected to a similar practice in military training, all but standard by the time it was her turn. She fed her fake interrogators every single data point she had been told to memorize, slowly, to spare herself as much as possible. Did not aim for the purpose of the exercise but self preservation. They weren't fond of that, but it so happened that her promotion paperwork processed the day before their complaint. That replicating that practice with Lavender had been on the table for years, as Malka thought about what situations the Devisers might get into.

That Justice had just left the Devisers for a growing revolution, that she had a decent chance of winning a place in the House of Representatives, that they didn't know she would lose and return yet, that the flames grew closer every day, that emotions were running high—

That after years of merciless demands and pushing, pushing, pushing—this was, in a way, just another challenge.

That Lavender signed the agreement form with complete trust and without question, an agreement that had no real bearing except between the two of them, and that it still meant everything.

But there really was _before_ and _after._

Lavender broke in the practice. It had taken every method Malka had at hand. The physical—the beatings and cuttings and drownings and electric shocks. The mental—the fear and humiliation and skewing of reality and tearing apart of her emotions. The deprivation—no food, no medication that would bring relief, no bed, no bathroom, very little water, a device locked to her wrist that shocked her once every twenty minutes instead of sleep when Malka left to rest. Good soundproofing in their apartment and security's trust of Malka and an experimental post Contrivance week off for the Devisers and the communication devices (and everything else) removed from Lavender's reach meant no hope.

Malka's only promises were that there would be no permanent, long term, critical, or life threatening physical damage, no professional medical care needed, that it would only be the two of them, at home, for the sixty hours.

You had to understand that Malka had never raised a hand against the child before. Not in anger, not in discipline. Didn't threaten it. That she didn't so much as yell. Didn't swear. Never even threatened to neglect Lavender's physical needs other than rest.

Only in combat training—blades, hand to hand—did they spar, and that was fair and mutual. Not necessary for Deviser training either, but Malka required it out of paranoia—like the first aid training—and the mental effects it taught; the rigorous physical requirements, if they sometimes saw Lavender lose consciousness multiple times in a day—were barely a match for her academic studies.

You had to understand that despite every line they had already crossed, watching Lavender in the practice—screaming, crying, begging for mercy, covered in bruises and blood and sweat, throwing up what little liquids she had, too weak to stand, dazed and panicked, clawing at her own skin trying to get the shock device off, freezing water dripping off matted blonde curls—was like watching someone she had never met. She had never seen her like this.

And still, Lavender told her nothing.

That was the biggest surprise of all. Malka even asked other questions—not for the information she had specified, but general reality questions or simple logic questions to make sure her mind was there. That she would remember. That she _could_ tell her the information if her will broke. All seemed intact.

About fourteen hours before the practice was over, Malka pulled one last trick. Sounded the ending alarm. Assured Lavender it was done. Stroked her hair and told her it was all right now. Tried to lower her defenses in that moment.

Lavender was too afraid, too clever, too paranoid, too knowing of each of Malka's mannerisms—she didn't believe they were done. She panicked, quickly, realizing what was going on. Pressed. Asked why she was still locked in her room, away from drinking water, food, medicine. Pressed until Malka admitted that they were far from done.

She tried to convince her that she had thrown the timeframe away, hinted that there had never been a timeframe at all. That Lavender would be here until she cooperated. That there was no end in sight until she caved.

That was when Lavender began begging to die. Her will to live broke, but whatever form of will it was that kept the information from crossing her lips did not. Neither truly understood why. But talking had somehow been mentally written off as an option at all costs, time frame or no time frame.

When it did end, it should've been impossible to put the broken pieces all back together.

" _I won't force you_ ," Malka told her very shortly after the real ending, on accepting care and comfort she was understandably skeptical of.

" _No,_ " Lavender laughed, raw and broken; " _you'll convince me. Just like you would've if I hadn't agreed in the first place."_

But after that, after everything, slowly, Lavender fell back on old instincts. Love and trust and respect for Malka and her methods, a willingness to give her everything and more for their goals.

The problem...

They found every other broken piece, every other cruel thing Malka had ever done to her, every other fear and insecurity, every other unspoken rule of their little power games, every other thing they hadn't said—

Malka had rarely said _I'm proud of you_ or _I love you_ and Lavender didn't say she wanted her to, even if it was the _only_ thing she had ever truly wanted other than to be Lead Deviser and to be excellent at it.

But after—oh, it wasn't any quantifiable change. But it was different, in a way they silently agreed on. Seeing what they could get through. Fixing the other broken pieces along the way. A salutary lesson that a bit of maternal affection in a fragile time did not ruin years of work. That they did not have to tunnel vision on the future with the fear that one touch of gentleness meant dependency. That a softer moment now didn't mean the sharpness was all lost. That a scrap of mercy and sheer indulgence were not the same thing. 

After that, something between them was safer, less lethal. Less steel and ice and— _different._

It was unfair to begin with the practice interrogation.

It was even less fair to end with it.

You had to understand—before, and after—and that in the end—

Neither of them had ever regretted it.


	3. Rescue

Now, Malka gave the others the story as best she could amongst the interjections of insults or questions. When it was done, they were mostly quiet.

Francisco slid to the floor against the wall next to the door, paced now and then to give the door another try, the electronics another try, punch something, or claw at the wall in frustration. Trace sat next to him when he did sit, rubbing his back, squeezing his bruising hands. Rissa, Ritter, and Justice sat close by each other, though each of them also got up to pace in frustration now and then.

Kaye cried and covered her ears to block out the awful sounds from the next room. When her arms started to shake, Thespian covered them for her, and offered, "Gotta say it. Worst. Meeting. Ever," to the others. Kaye threw up shortly thereafter, barely making it to the little conference room trash can. Thespian held her two braids back out of her face while she retched a little bit more, but nothing else came up.

Ritter offered, "Water?"

Trace offered, "Valium?"

Kaye took a shaky sip of the water but shook her head at the pill. Thespian shrugged and took it himself.

After what had to be hours, there was a commotion in the hall. _Commotion_ was an understatement, gunshots and shouts and thuds. Several of the Devisers jumped up. Francisco yanked at the door again. It hit him hard in the shoulder when it flew open, and Contrivance Headquarters security lowered their weapons quickly, though the Devisers had almost all already fled for cover or protective stances.

"Devisers except Lead alive in Room 503," said one agent into a radio, shutting the door again, locking it properly from the inside this time, not whatever had been keeping it locked from outside, though he kept his weapon trained on it. "Locking down until building's clear. Backup needed in hall." To the room, "Anyone need medical?"

Shakes of heads.

To the radio, "No injuries."

"Did you find her?" Francisco asked, but didn't get an answer before someone came on the radio saying:

"Lead Deviser alive in Room 505. Medical needed. Fifth floor clear. Transporting to Room 503 for first aid."

The security agent carefully let another into the room, who set Lavender down in the nearest available chair, which happened to be her own. Kaye and Francisco rushed over. Ritter produced the first aid kit and followed, the others as close as practical.

Lavender did not look well. Pale and shaking, breathing quick and shallow, sounding pained. Blood continued to dot various lines on her skin, where the fabric of her shirt was torn, also showing bruises that looked like they were probably worse out of sight. Her hair, now mostly loose and tangled, clung to her face from sweat and tears. Pupils wide, brown eyes glassy.

Ritter asked questions that Lavender wasn't answering, "Are you hurt badly anywhere?" and trying to gently examine her condition. "Broken ribs, I think," he said; "shoulder's swollen like it's dislocated but could just be bad bruising? I—oh, fuck." His hand came away from Lavender's thigh soaked with blood.

"Fuck," Francisco echoed.

Kaye went and threw up again.

"Can we get her on the floor somewhere?" Ritter asked no one in particular.

"I'll help." Francisco, carefully, helped him move Lavender to the floor on the far side of the conference table to lie flat.

"Grab that—" Ritter gestured at the blazer Lavender had taken off earlier "—and apply pressure. And anything else handy." Rissa produced the vest she was wearing and Justice's cardigan. Ritter propped Lavender's legs up slightly on his lap, said, "And elevation."

Lavender reached for Malka weakly, whimpering from the pain of that effort, fingertips brushing Malka’s leg. Malka sat next to her on the floor, arthritis be damned, and pet her hair and made soothing sounds, let Lavender squeeze her hand when the pain worsened, usually accompanied by a gasp or hiss. Several of the others exchanged looks but no one had the heart to say anything.

"Building clear," came over the radio. "Personnel on their way to transport Devisers to medical center."

Lavender was transported via stretcher. The others walked with security still on high alert around them. The Contrivance Headquarters Medical Center, upstairs, was chaos. Everyone from interns and office staff to janitors and security agents had been caught in the crossfire. The Devisers were kept in a private waiting room while the staff saw to Lavender. "The best thing you can do for her now is stay out of medical's way," a security agent told them.

Other security agents kept the Devisers busy with questions. "Who did you see? What did they do? What _happened_?" Handing out waters, snacks, tissues. "Security will escort you if you want the bathroom or a sink to wash up." Eyeing the blood multiple people had on them.

Information came to them slowly. "All of the intruders are dead or in government custody, out of the building. We have some unconfirmed identifications. Doesn't appear they got anything they were after except injury. Fatalities among security, one intern. Some building repairs needed. You'll get a full report later, but you can expect ramping up of security."

Someone from medical reported, "Lead Deviser was stabbed in the right leg by captors during rescue, probably to slow the process down. Bleeding under control, wound sterilized and closed, elevated. Two broken ribs on her right side, dislocated left shoulder, set back in place, with sling. Sprained ankle on the right, wrapped, elevated. Assorted minor cuts got sterilized, and there's bruising. Pain management medication and antibiotics prescribed, lots of ice, rest, and fluids. She can go home in the morning, and she's stable, awake, up to date, a little dazed, but very eager to see all of you."

Kaye reached Lavender first, tearfully flinging herself at her at an awkward angle considering the hospital bed, and doing so too hard, quickly drawing back at Lavender's hiss of pain and saying, "Sorry, sorry," frantically. "Oh, God. Sorry."

Lavender pulled her closer again to a better spot, breathed Kaye's name, and, "It's all right. It's all right now." Still, her grip on her was shaky and weak.

"Are you... okay?"

What a question. Lavender gave a small nod, kissed the side of Kaye's face, and released her.

Francisco, trying to contain Kaye's painful enthusiasm, reached her next, a careful embrace; she whispered, "I'm sorry," close to his ear because he had not wanted to play this noble game at all, hand that didn't have an IV in it settling at his cheek, loose hospital gown sleeve slipping down her arm.

He shook his head, turned and kissed the palm of her hand, guided it off of him with a gentle squeeze as he stood.

Malka, who had, given the revelations of the day, tried to let the others near her first, waited until it was clear no one else was going to approach her before embracing her as tightly as she could without pain. "Thank you," Lavender whispered to her, because she was the only one to willingly give her the terrible thing she'd wanted.

Malka was quiet for another moment, drawing back a little, undoing what remained of the updo Lavender's hair had been in, now a tangled, half loose mess that had to be pulling somewhere, brushing blonde curls back from her face. Finally said, also too quiet for the others to hear, "You're the best and worst thing that ever happened to me, you know."

Lavender smiled, a little, in a kind of wrong way. "I know."

Malka adjusted the blanket that was draped over her and stepped back.

Medical did not want the room crowded for long. "Security wants to escort you all to your apartments," someone said from the doorway. "Except the patient, of course."

The Devisers exchanged reluctant glances.

"Go," said Lavender, the order clear, though her voice was still shaky, breathy. "Listen to security."

And, well, that was enough.

She caught Francisco's wrist as the others started to leave, said, "Keep an eye on Kaye tonight. Don't let her be alone."

She didn't say _suicide watch,_ but it was there.

"Of course." Squeezed her hand one more time and left with the others.

Someone whose department was unclear came in shortly after with a pile of items. "A few things got sent up for you from downstairs."

One was left draped over the hospital blanket at Lavender's nod of approval—her quilt from Thespian, who had made all of the Devisers at least one, each different, as qualities reminded him of the person in question. Lavender's was a chessboard pattern of light blue gray and navy squares, with embroidered lavender flowers at three of the corners and her initials in the upper right. Someone, presumably Thespian, must have thought of it and gotten it from her apartment.

Left on the little table next to her was a few slices of the cinnamon bread Francisco made that she loved enough to stomach some of even now.

And, on a nearby chair, what was presented as clothes for the morning, if she wanted them, fetched from her apartment, by Malka. Though this was probably the version of _death as a comfort object_ that security did not notice, another black blazer with more pills in the seams, as it was noted that, "A few items the others asked to have sent up, were, ah, declined. Weapons, intoxicants, that sort of thing?"

Lavender laughed weakly, even though it hurt. She was still, by a few weeks, underage. "Tell them thank you."

She slept listlessly, lulled by whatever they were medicating her with and even more than her usual exhaustion, though her usual insomnia and worry of nightmares still plagued her along with the beeping of machines and emotional effects of the day.

"—Good morning," she said, voice raspy, with her eyes still closed, when Malka entered.

"Good morning," Malka said, shifting items and sitting in the chair next to her. "How are you feeling?"

Malka, at least, looked her normal when Lavender got her eyes open, even if her normal at seventy-two was gray haired with wrinkled skin, pale save the dark circles under her eyes that all of them had on a permanent basis. Her hair was pulled back, half up as usual with the only brand of hair clip that seemed to manage her long, thick curls. Lavender had always thought of Malka's appearance in terms of water and cold—snowy gray white hair, icy blue gray eyes—when she was feeling poetic. It suited the stolid meteorologist.

"I've been better. I... could've been a lot worse." Her eyes fluttered shut again. "You told them, didn't you?" Words a little slurred.

"Yes. I did."

She didn't want to think her way through the others knowing about the practice right now. Yet her spinning thoughts weren't offering many better options.

Francisco and Kaye arrived next, together, and, like Malka, stayed through breakfast and discharge instructions. The others filtered in and out throughout the morning and the rest of the weekend.

The attack had been on a Friday, and Lavender spent the weekend trying to rest, never alone for more than a few minutes, though in her typical fashion, she insisted, "We'll go back to normal on Monday," and, reluctantly, "But we'll take it slow. See how it goes."

She was aware that there were a lot of questions to be answered when anyone had a chance to get her one on one or on less pain medication. That the work week would bring a lot more than a return to Contrivance. That in this new version of the world where danger successfully got this close to home, they were all waiting to see what would happen next.

**Author's Note:**

> Want more? Find the whole series on [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034871).
> 
> Want more, and have something in mind? Request short stories for this series [here](https://hannahthescribe.com/contrivance-requests/).
> 
> Want fun extras like character art and fonts? Check [this](https://hannahthescribe.com/contrivance/%22) out.


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